An Arizona Indian Delicacy.
Are you interested in a description of a great delicacy of the Hualapai Indiana, called the "army worm"? Since the heavy rains in this part of Arizona the Hualapai Valley has been covered with a species of worms called the army worm—I suppose because they travel in regular armies. They are from two to four inches in length, and of a yellow-green color. The Indians go out in the valley in parties to gather them. Each member of the party—the party is mostly made up of squaws—has a basket on her back. She first selects a spot where the worms are quite plentiful, then sits down and goes to work.
She picks up a worm between her thumb and forefinger, gives a shake of her wrist to break its neck, and then throws it into her basket. When she has her basket full she comes back to town. She takes a kettle of boiling water, drops the worms in one by one, and then strings them on a string and hangs them up to dry. When they are perfectly dry the feast commences. They say they taste just like fish, but I am willing to take Indian evidence for that.
Frankie L. Potts, R.T.L.
Kingman, Ariz.
Dear Round Table.—In the issue of August 11, I saw a very interesting account of the "American Thermopylæ," but as it is probable that an injustice was done therein to the memory of Moses Rose, I determined to write to the Table concerning what I know of the affair. The gentleman who told me the story had heard it, I believe, from an intimate friend of James Bowie's.
The last fatal days of the Alamo had come, and all knew that they must die sooner or later. When the line was drawn, all crossed it but Rose, who said:
"Men, I have determined to escape from this trap. I can speak the Mexicans' language, and if I get away I will send help; if not, to die is as little as any of us can do."
They all shook hands with him warmly, bidding him godspeed, and he started on his perilous way. Fortunately he managed to elude the enemy; but the whole night he ran on, over the immense prickly-pears and cacti, in his bare feet; and when, at daybreak, he reached a friendly camp and fell insensible, it was hours before all the huge thorns which had penetrated his flesh could be extracted. Two days passed before his consciousness returned, and then his first words were, "Did you send them help?" Alas! they had known nothing of the pressing danger, and in that short while the American Thermopylæ had been accomplished.
A story is current upon the Mexican border that James Bowie was dying at the time the foes broke into the Alamo. His room was so situated that he could see everything that happened in the large hall; and when the Mexicans had despatched all the other defenders of the garrison, they made a rush for him. Bowie sprang up from his bed, and killed fourteen men in the doorway with his terrible knife, and then slowly backed toward the farther wall, a revolver in either hand, bringing down an enemy with each shot. When his ammunition had been exhausted he fell heavily from weakness, and it is claimed that he was dead when the enemy reached him. How much truth there is in this last story, however, I am unable to say.
V. Bowie.
Kinks.
No. 37.—Mathematical Riddle.
A man being asked how far it was to a certain city, repeated the familiar ditty: